Every man has those moments, I imagine, of struggling with his own mind, endeavoring, yet almost impossibly, to fix it upon a single object for any length of time: when it is like a bird in a storm, attempting to alight upon a waving, trembling spray. 17. "But Thomas Moore, albeit but an indifferent biographer, is one of the greatest masters of versification the world has ever known, while in song-writing he is perfectly unrivalled."--_Quarterly Review_. Perhaps in a peculiar, refined style of song-writing he may be: but while his are the music of the fancy, _Burns_ speaks the melodies of the soul. 18. "The Creator has so constituted the human intellect, that it _can_ grow only by its own action, and by its own action it _will_ most certainly and necessarily grow. Every man must, therefore, in an important sense, educate himself. His books and teachers are but aids, _the work_ is his."--_Daniel Webster_. The great statesman spoke this from the lessons of his own experience, and it is true. Yet how many moments there are in a scholar's life, when his progress seems so slow that he languishes over every task; and, because he cannot attain every thing at once, forgets, that every thing worth gaining is obtained after many struggles: and, if one foot slips back a little, yet, if he gain _at all_ on his way, that it is better to persevere! Besides, it is not only _the ends_ of study which are delightful--for so also are its _ways_: and, if we are not advancing rapidly, there is yet a pleasure in exercise, even when much of it fails. 19. "The preacher, raising his withered hands as if imparting a benediction with the words, closed his discourse with the text he had been enforcing,--'It is good that a man bear the yoke in his youth.'"--_Lights and Shadows_. I do believe that text most implicitly. I myself feel that it is true: for I am one of those who are best when most afflicted. While the weight hangs heavily, I keep time and measure, like a clock; but remove it, and all the springs and wheels move irregularly, and I am but a mere useless thing. 20. "Fair and bright to day, but windy and cold."--_My Old Journal_. ------like a satirical beauty! J. F. O. HALLEY'S COMET. And who art thou amid the starry host, Shedding thy pale and misty light, Like some lone pearl, unseen and lost, Amid the diamonds of a gala night. Thou comest from the measureless abyss, Where God hath made his glory known; Is it with mystic cord, to this To bind some system yet unseen, unknown. Art thou the ship of heaven, laden with light, From the eternal glory sent, To feed the glowing suns, that might In ceaseless radiance but for thee be spent? Or art thou rolling on thy way, a car, Bearing from God some angel band, Sent forth from world to world afar, To regulate the fabric of his hand?